Don't Cry
by Lady Laurelin
Summary: Oneshot. Sam was never the same after he came back. Dean accepts the why and knows their job is finally at an end. Warning: Character Death.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Supernatural. Kripke and the folks at the CW are the lucky few.

A/N: I never thought I would write a story like this. Even in my worst dreams I never went here. Please know this hurt me as much as if it had really happened. Sam and Dean are, for lack of a better description, me and my sister. If I lost my sister, my Sam, I'm not sure how I would go on.

Know that when you are reading this story you aren't reading about two people who are just fictional characters. You are reading about two people who live and breathe and have hopes and dreams of their own. Their fate touches so many. May the Winchesters live on in all of you.

I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki who have breathed life into Sam and Dean. Without you, Sam and Dean are just words on a page.

_Don't Cry_

"_It's just not right, Dean. I killed that girl. I kissed her then I slit her stomach open. She bled to death while I stood there and pulled her intestines out."_

"_She didn't deserve to die that way. She was only fifteen. Fifteen, Dean! Still a baby! Why? Why her? Why?"_

"_No one will know what happened to her. Her parents…God, they'll pray for years for their little girl to come home. Pray for a miracle that will never happen. They'll cling to the hope she'll walk through the door one day. Why, Dean? Why did it have to be her?"_

"_Why couldn't you just let me go?"_

Dean hadn't cried even though those words had haunted him for four years.

That had been the last time he had seen his Sam. Ironic really. Sam had not been himself for more than a year. It had been pure chance he'd come across the information about the demon, the damnedable bastard who'd hitchhiked out of the ether when the crossroads demon had brought Sam back. He knew the Sam who had come back wasn't entirely his Sam. Bobby knew it. Hell, even Sam knew it.

What could they do though? They had all assumed a piece of that emo, chick conscience that was Sam hadn't made the trip back. They'd been wrong. And his Sam, the brother he'd raised and protected and _loved_ more than anything, had died in the bathroom of room 16 at the Sunshine Lady motel. Oh, Sam still existed. He ate and drank and shared a room with Dean. They still prowled the country destroying supernatural monsters but their world had changed. The Sam who rode shotgun with him now was a mere figment of a long forgotten self. He didn't live. He was no longer the Sam Dean had known.

In the beginning it had been enough. Kill the bad. Get the girl. Move on. It hadn't made him money or given him fame, but it had been enough. He had a brother, he had a car, and he had a mission. Life had been good. They'd killed so many evil sons of bitches. They'd raised their hell. Now they lived in Hell on Earth. The bad still died. The girls still lived. Beyond the brother, the car and the mission his life did not go on.

When he'd instigated the ritual where Sam killed the girl, his only thought had been getting his brother back. He wanted his Sam back and the demon gone. For a short time he had gotten his wish. The demon had been sent to Hell, and Sam had been emotional as ever. That had been the beginning and the end. As he'd washed the blood off of Sam's hands he'd watched the brother he remembered agonize over the death of an innocent girl. He'd watched him slowly fade away. A light of hope, of purity had always burned in the depths of Sam's eyes. As each tear had fallen from those eyes, as each word had begged for absolution, that light had withered a little more until it had completely died. His Sam had never believed his life was worth the life of an innocent.

Now they were little more than strangers travelling together. Hunting relentlessly. Pretending it all mattered. Pretending the ends justified the means.

Tonight he'd asked Bobby to take them in. Asked, without asking, for a grace they would never trust to another. Sam seemed to understand what it meant. Being at Bobby's. Being with a friend.

It had been so long since they'd had a friend. So long since they'd had anything but their own thoughts. Tonight they'd had a good meal, a good conversation and a great sense of understanding.

He'd meant it when he told Bobby he had been like a father to them, told him they couldn't love him more if he'd been their real father. He had then watched as Sam hugged Bobby with an emotion he hadn't seen in years.

Bobby's eyes had filled with tears. Dean had mimicked Sam's hug and whispered to Bobby. The words had almost been more thought than utterance.

_Don't cry._

There was nothing else left to say.

Sam, though…he had failed his Sammy. Softly he closed the door to the room Bobby had pointed him too when they first arrived. It wasn't nice. It wasn't plush. It had a hand-made quilt covering a double bed and a dresser with a cracked mirror shoved in one corner. It was well used. It was comfortable.

It was them.

Sam stood facing him from the end of the wrought iron bed.

"Dean, I thought I could live in this world. I thought I could –"

"I know, Sammy." Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam's head against his shoulder. "I know." He reached behind his back and drew the gun from his waistband. "I promised you when you were in need I wouldn't deny you."

He looked down at Sam and felt tears run unchecked from his eyes. The first tears he'd cried in over four years. "I'm so sorry I couldn't keep that promise until now." With a steady hand he placed the barrel of the gun to Sam's temple. Sam raised his eyes and, for the first time since that horrible day, for the first time in years, Dean saw peace.

"I love you, Dean."

"Don't cry, Sammy," Dean wiped the tear from the corner of Sam's eye. "I love you, too." He didn't close his eyes as he pulled the trigger. For just a little longer he wanted to see the peace in his little brother's eyes.

When Sam's body slumped against his he caught him before he could fall. He laid Sam on the bed and made sure he was comfortable. As he fussed with Sam's legs he could hear the voices whispering that his job was over. His mission had been completed. Sam was safe. Nothing else mattered.

But it wasn't quite over yet. Dean slid his hand over Sam's face closing his eyes. He picked up the hand that had held so many weapons, the hand that had alternately defended his back and played so many brotherly tricks on him. Softly he placed Sam's hand over his stomach and brushed a stray hair from his forehead.

His brother had been his whole life. Nothing, _nothing_, but Sam mattered. Finally the peace that had eluded them both had found Sam. Sam was safe. Nothing could harm Sam again. The only job he'd never considered giving up on was done. Now he could rest.

Dean placed the gun to his own temple and closed his eyes. He thought of his brother, his father, his mother. Everyone he loved, everyone whose love for him had been real, was now only a memory. There was no one left to protect. He could finally end his own pain. Slowly he squeezed the trigger.

After all, he had no one left to cry to.


End file.
